So, when Baby-Ko accompanied me to a very crowded and not so kid friendly Home Depot, you can imagine how hard I TRIED to explain to him why roaming the aisles (without holding my hand) wasn’t really an option. You can also imagine how hard I TRIED to reason with him as we were leaving (literally four and a half minutes after we got there) that riding the fork lift in the parking lot was also not an option. And certainly, you can imagine how hard I TRIED to lure him into my very obvious not-a-contractor-just-a-stressed-out-mom-doing-an-errand-too-close-to-nap-time-SUV-with a “yummy string cheese…???”
“Cheese baby? Do you want cheese?” I said sweetly (waiting for a defiant “No!”).
“Yeahhh. I want it,” he said relaxing his body and sitting in to the car seat.
“Okay, my love. Here you are.” Phew.
Without thinking, I peeled back the wrapper, broke the stick in half and handed him one of the pieces.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He wailed. “I want to bite it!!!” Tears erupted.
“What? Why? Wait, no! Look, you have TWO pieces! Mommy gave you two pieces of cheese!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He flailed. “I don’t want two!! I want together!!!”
Are you kidding me??? WTF?! Who doesn’t like two pieces of cheese???
“Okay, shhhh! Calm down, Baby-Ko. Give it back to Mommy. I will make you one piece,” I said boldly.
With one hand on the steering wheel (did I mention we were already on the road??), and one hand on the cheese(s), I literally started to mush the two ends together to create one “string,” if you will. As I handed what I thought was a perfectly welded string/stick of friggin’ cheese back to my boy, it fell apart. MORE TEARS.
“Baby! It’s not working.”
“I want it!!!! I want to bite!!!” He said, chucking half of the cheese back at me (thankfully landing on the console). OMG, kid.
O. M. G.
Doing my best not to lose it (with both tears and laughter), I took a deep breath and dug deep to my inner MacGyver. I mushed, and mushed, and contorted the over-processed (and while we’re being honest: NOT organic) cheese back in to one stick and supported it by using the wrapper (like a banana leaf).
With my fingers now smelling like a combo of ass, foot crud, and Wisconsin Cheddar, I delicately handed the golden stick of goodness back to his royal highness.
“Okay, Baby-Ko. One stick. Eat it slowly.”
“It’s mine,” he said sniffling. “My cheese.”
“Yes,” I said, “It’s your cheese….” And for some reason, (and I have no idea why I said it, I just did), under my breath muttered: “Believe me it’s yours. My hand smells like vagina.”
Without missing a beat he responded: “I want my penis.”
This time, I said and tried nothing. Down the road, (a long road, I hope) I think my strong willed and curious child will handle this one on his own… I just hope I’m prepared…..